


Comic and Awkward Grace

by HugeAlienPie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ambigender Character, Canada, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Food, Future Fic, Gender Identity, Hasetsu, Injury, Misunderstandings, Nonbinary Character, Otabek Altin Is A Good Friend, Other, Pre-Relationship, Yuri Plisetsky Makes Bad Assumptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 21:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/pseuds/HugeAlienPie
Summary: When a season-ending injury leaves JJ bored and isolated in Canada, only Otabek cares enough to go visit him. That makes sense to Yuri. What makeslesssense is why Yuri's come with him—especially since Otabek's been spending all his time since they got here with Isabella. And as long as Yuri's talking about things he doesn't understand, he'd like to know what happened in Hasetsu that left Otabek and Katsuki unable to look each other in the eye. Everyone Yuri knows is keeping secrets, and he's sick of it.





	Comic and Awkward Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, Perpet my dear!

_A bird flies out_  
_And over the rooftops_  
_Down past the cars in my line of view_  
_It's a strange beginning_  
_Comic and awkward grace_  
_In a picture, on the table_  
_I'm in a red dress_  
_Waiting for a reason_  
_Holding a tightly packed suitcase_  
  
_Maybe I'm too jaded to love somebody like you_  
_Maybe I want to love my dream that'll never come true_  
_Someone who is real, oh, gets in the way_  
_And moves inside my heart, not just my head_  
_Interfering with how I want to feel_  
_How do I want to feel_  
_How do I want to feel_  
_I wonder_

–Deb Talan, "[A Bird Flies Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7QxDQOor_8&list=PLwNvXLLzl2Eb7TGnaZWlmLt265KSa2Fcz&index=1)"

* * *

 

Otabek Altin is eight years old and pulling a skate blade into the air.

"What are you _doing_?" screams Coach Sokolov, florid and angry. Otabek doesn't understand why he coaches if it makes him angry.

"Practicing Biellmanns," Otabek says.

Coach Sokolov  grips Otabek's shoulder too tightly. "Biellmanns are for girls," he says. "Flexibility and grace and lyricism. Men must be bold. Powerful. Strong."

Both of those sound fine to Otabek. Coach Sokolov appears to disagree, so Otabek nods and stays silent, learns boldness, power, and strength, puts away lyricism and grace.

*

Otabek is thirteen and attending Yakov Feltsman's skating camp. In the corner of vision comes a flash of gold and Coach Feltsman himself chivvying a new student to the barre. Otabek catches glimpses from between the other students and at first can't tell if the new student is a boy or a girl. The ambiguity is freeing.

The crowd parts, and the other student comes into view. Resolves into a boy, younger than Otabek, blond hair falling into two glittering green eyes that have seen too much already. _The eyes of a soldier_ , Otabek thinks.

Otabek waits for the answering fire within, and it doesn't come. On the ice, it would have. Otabek isn't going back to ballet.

*

Otabek is sixteen and receiving the information packet for the next competition. The first in seniors. Otabek is entered in the men’s division and isn't sure why he would for one second have expected anything else.

*

Otabek is eighteen and holding out a hand to a tiger that well might bite it. Yuri looks wary but shakes. _We're friends now_ , Otabek thinks, the knowledge both exhilarating and terrifying. Friends share things with each other. And at the heart of Otabek lies something that can't be shared, because it can't yet be named. Every morning Otabek wakes up, looks in the mirror, and hopes to able to look at the face looking back and think, _Yes, that's me_. It feels half right.

Otabek _wants_ to tell Yuri but doesn't know _how_. Doesn't know what, exactly, to tell.

*

Yuri Plisetsky is eighteen, and on the ice, King Scumbag's knee has made a noise the whole arena heard. Yuri's stomach churns. He hates JJ, but no one deserves that.

As JJ's goddamn synthpop song rolls on, and the man himself lies crumpled on the ice ( _get up, fucker, get_ **_up_** ), Yuri glances around. Katsudon and Chulanont look faintly green. Old Man Nikiforov is staring at the form on the ice as if he could lift JJ up by force of will.

Beside Yuri, Otabek presses his hands hard against his thighs, and his face has a carven stillness. Except for his eyes. His eyes are flashing around the stands, searching for—oh. He's looking for Isabella. Probably wants to make sure she's okay. Sap.

Two medics on the ice help JJ to his feet. The music cuts off. JJ plasters on a grin and waves like nothing's wrong. Every skater in the room sees the kind of injury that puts you out of things for at least a few weeks. If not longer.

Otabek is practically _vibrating_ , he's working so hard to hold still. Yuri rolls his eyes. "Go."

Otabek looks over, eyes wide. "You think?"

" _Yes,_ dumbass. I can't stand the fathead, but I know you're friends for some reason. Go." He sniffs. "Keep your blubbering out of the medics' way, yeah?"

Otabek smiles. A _real_ smile, the small, genuine one the cameras never see. He touches Yuri's hand briefly. "You're a good friend," he says, before he stands and climbs gracefully over Yuri and out of the stands.

The smile, the touch, the compliment, the closeness of his body as he passed—well. Yuri doesn't hate any of that.

And Yuri hates that.

*

The season ends two weeks later. A whimper, for Yuri—although a hot, possessive pride swells in his chest as Otabek climbs the podium with Katsudon and Chulanont. Yuri spends three precious days in St. Petersburg with his grandfather and Potya and then gets on a plane to Japan. The elder Katsukis have invited practically everyone to Hasetsu.

Hardly anyone took them up on it. Leo had to get back to the States for his job (Leo has a _job_ what the fuck?). Guang-Hong had a family obligation. Georgi's in Russia being gross with his true love of the week. Yuri swears he heard Viktor say that Giacometti and his dweeb boyfriend are hiking in the Andes, but that _can't_ be right, because Christophe's idea of "roughing it" is a hotel room without a jacuzzi. In the end, it's Yuri, Mila, Phichit, and whatshisname, the little hyper one who could literally be Viktor and Katsuki's son.

Mila seems excessively gleeful, even for her, as she leads him to the room he'll be staying in. It's already been set up for the night, with two futons on the floor, though neither has been claimed. "Who'm I sharing with?" Yuri asks.

Mila smiles like she's won every damned skating competition in the world _and_ gotten a hot date out of it. "Altin."

Yuri is one of _the_ top male figure skaters in the world. Since he was _nine,_ he's been training his body to do exactly what he wants it to do, when he wants it to, and nothing he doesn't want it to do, _ever_.

That's the only reason he doesn't drop his suitcase on his toe.

"Be-but Otabek isn't coming." He veers awkwardly away from the damning nickname. The fuck he's going to let this hag know how close he and Otabek have gotten over the past year and a half. "He had—"

Yuri pauses, unsure. Otabek had been cagey about why he wasn't coming to Japan. Yuri hadn't pushed, not because he's learned _restraint_ or any bullshit like that, but because he's learned that when Otabek digs his heels in, no amount of needling, cajoling, or screaming will change his mind or loosen his tongue.

Mila shrugs. "Last minute change or something." She gives Yuri that sharp grin again. "Yuuri thought you wouldn't  mind sharing."

That brings Yuri up short. If this had been Viktor's doing, he would've tracked the bastard down and Hardinged his kneecaps. Yuuri... Yuuri wouldn't have done this on _purpose_. The guy who hadn't realized he was engaged to Viktor until the old fart announced it in front of a restaurant full of their friends _can't_ be aware of Yuri's—well. Whatever.

Not like it matters. Because no way does Otabek well whatever him back.

"Pick one and get downstairs," Mila says. "Hiroko's making dinner."

Yuri throws his bag on the futon furthest from the door and scrambles after Mila. He ignores her laughter. Fuck dignity. _Hiroko's cooking_.

*

Otabek gets in in the middle of the night. He staggers in the dark for a minute, making a small, surprised sound when his foot, presumably, squishes into the futon.

Yuri sits up and squints toward the door, for all the good it does him. "Beka?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," Otabek says.

"I wasn't asleep. I don't mind," Yuri half-lies. He _was_ asleep, but it was fitful and nightmare-plagued; he doesn't mind waking up. He reaches out a hand. "Come here." Otabek makes his careful way across the dark room and crouches down next to Yuri. "You really here?" Yuri asks, brain fuzzy from shoddy sleep.

It's hard to tell in the dark, but he thinks Otabek smiles a little. "Yes, Yura. I'm really here."

"Good."

Yuri punches him in the shoulder. Hard.

"What the fuck?" Otabek hisses, just barely maintaining his awkward crouch.

"You told me you weren't coming!" Yuri hisses back, mindful of the onsen's thin walls and Minami asleep on in the next room. (The kid hadn't fallen asleep so much as come to a full and abrupt stop, basically crashing where he stood. Mila, who'd developed a weird and unexpected soft spot for him, had all but carried him to his room.)

"Change of plans," Otabek says, rubbing his arm. "You've heard of those?"

"From _you_?" Yuri scoffs. Otabek is one of the most regular and disciplined of them all, which, given the level of competition they're at, is saying a hell of a lot.

"Well, I'm here now."

Otabek and Yuri, they might be as good at discussing their feelings as Viktor is at being low-key about anything, but Yuri gets what Otabek's trying to say. He slugs Otabek again, on the other arm, lighter. "Thank god. Now I don't have to be mad at you for leaving me alone with these assholes."

He likes to think that Otabek gets what he's saying, too.

*

Yuri comes back to the room on the second evening after _destroying_ Viktor on a run through town and hears Otabek on the phone. Yuri isn't sure who he's talking to; he talked with his parents and younger sister yesterday, and they're close, but not _that_ close. Also, he sounds like he's speaking... French? Yuri knocks, to be _polite_ or some shit (and definitely _not_ because he's worried he's about to find out that Otabek has a surprise significant other), and opens the door.

And then wishes he could slam it shut again. Because it's a Skype call, and Jean-Jacques Lefuckingroy's face is smirking at him out of Otabek's computer screen.

"Yuri!" JJ calls loudly in a faux-hearty sing-song.

"Fuck a cactus and die!" Yuri says in English, in the same cheery tone.

JJ laughs like he thinks Yuri was joking, but he immediately starts talking to Otabek again, lowering his voice and speaking in rapid French. Which— _rude._ Yuri doesn't speak French. Not that he _wants_ to know what Jizz-Jock has to say about anything, but he wants the _option_ to eavesdrop. Especially since the ass-shit just said "Yuri," and Yuri _has to_ know what's being said about him.

Otabek (who speaks French, apparently, what the fuck?) damned near _barks_ at JJ, voice hard, posture and position unyielding. Defending Yuri's honor, maybe? Which Yuri doesn't need. And doesn't appreciate. And _definitely_ doesn't swoon over inside.

JJ replies with a whiny note in his tone, and Otabek laughs when he answers. _Laughs!_ Yuri's not sure he's heard Otabek laugh like that before. Something unpleasant twists in his gut.

Otabek ends the call a few minutes later. JJ makes disgusting air-kiss noises. Otabek doesn't make them back. Yuri cheers inside.

Otabek carefully closes his laptop and flops back in his to a chair with an exhausted sigh.

"The fuck did he want?" Yuri asks.

He's going to go ahead and call the eyebrow Otabek raises at him "amused." "I called him."

Yuri's jaw literally drops. "The fuck _for_?"

"To see if he's okay."

And, oh. Right. Yuri's mind keeps erasing his knowledge that Otabek and JJ are actual friends. That's not just some weird publicity stunt.

There's a long pause. The trouble with Otabek is that he's content with silence. If Yuri wants conversation, he's going to have to start it himself. He groans. "So how... is he?"

Yuri does not, in _any_ way, care about the current condition of Jean-Jacques Leroy. But _Otabek_ cares, and Yuri is mature enough to admit that he cares about what Otabek thinks and feels.

"Bored," Otabek says. "Tired. In pain." He glances at Yuri from the corner of his eye. "Resentful that so few other skaters are keeping in touch with him. Katsuki and Giacometti sent get-well cards. Not a word from anyone else. I'm the only one who's keeping in regular touch."

Yuri sniffs. "Well. Maybe if he wasn't such an insufferable dick to the rest of us."

Otabek's snort sounds vaguely like a laugh. Yuri bristles, spoiling for a fight. "What's funny?"

Otabek shakes his head. "Just, I told him the exact same thing to him."

"Hmph. Good."

After another quiet moment, Otabek says softly, "I'm thinking of going."

Yuri's head spins, he turns it so fast. "Where?"

"Montréal. Whenever I leave here, I may go there for a while. Spend time with him. Give Isabella a rest."

Yuri's vision swims. He's not—he hadn't—

None of them have long in Hasetsu. Minami will be leaving in the morning. Yuri himself, along with Mila, is only staying until the day after tomorrow. Phichit has a week, but Yuri thinks that's because Celestino's half in love with him and gives him whatever he wants.

Otabek has a looser timeline, because his coach isn't competent to coach at this level. The fact that Otabek's gotten as far as he has, does as well as he does, is ninety percent down to his skill and determination. And Yuri...

Yuri _may_ have entertained fantasies of whisking Otabek to St. Petersburg and getting him in front of _real_ coaches, okay? Yakov's the best, but the place is literally _crawling_ with top-tier figure skating coaches. Any one of them would take one look at Otabek and see the untapped potential in him. Yuri's wanted so badly to be the one who can give Otabek that.

But if the fucker's going to fucking _Montréal_ for JJ _fucking_ Leroy—

"Could you... come? Even for a few days?"

Yuri's going to give himself whiplash if he keeps turning his head so fast. He stares at Otabek. He _can't_ have heard that right. "You... you want me to come with you. To Montréal. For _JJ._ "

Otabek clenches his jaw. "Never mind. It was a bad idea."

"No, no!" Yuri shouts and scrambles to Otabek's side of the room, gets in his space, their faces almost touching. "It's not a bad idea!" (It's _the worst_ idea, but Otabek had it, and Yuri would like to know _why_.) "I was—I just—"

"Forget it, Yuri." Otabek shoves at Yuri, who lands on his ass on the futon with a soft, surprised "oof."

He stares at Otabek, but Otabek won't look back. After a minute, Yuri sighs and rights himself, standing on the floor next to the futon. "Okay," he says. "Forgotten."

They go to bed soon after that, though it's nowhere near when either of them usually does that. They don't speak another word in the meantime.

*

Yuri barely feels like he's closed his eyes, but they fly open and he's wide awake when the door opens. It's it's the kind of quiet door opening that happens when someone would _like_ slam the door open with great force but has to be quiet to avoid disturbing someone in the room. Yuri has done this enough times to be _very_ familiar with how it sounds.

Yuri struggles up onto his elbows. The shadowed shape hovering by the other futon is of Otabek's general dimensions. "Beka?" he whispers.

"Go to sleep, Yuri." Otabek's voice is gruff with anger and thick with tears. Yuri's never heard this much emotion out of Otabek, and they've known each other through a _lot_ of ups and downs on the ice.

"Beka—"

"Go to _sleep_ ," Otabek grits out. He lies down with his back to Yuri, the clearest sign possible that he considers the conversation over.

Yuri huffs quietly to himself. This conversation is _far_ from over.

*

Otabek can't look Yuuri in the eye. Yuri notices that first the next morning. Yuuri is being... weirdly cautious around Otabek, like he's made of glass. Otabek straight-up won't look at him. Yuri has _no idea_ what it's about, but the wrongness of the situation works under his skin like a splinter.

Yuri leans across the table. "What the fuck is going on with you?" he hisses to Otabek.

Otabek's face, which had been at neutral, sets immediately into resting murder. "Nothing," he says in a tight, clipped tone.

"Bullshit."

The dining room is quiet. Viktor is helping Hiroko in the kitchen. Has been since he arrived. Yuri thinks it's an awful idea, but so far no one's died of food poisoning or starved due to inedible food, so Viktor gets to keep doing it.

Minami departed early this morning in a flurry of suitcases and thanks, walking into the same door three times because he couldn't take his eyes off Yuuri long enough to watch where he's going. "He'll grow out of his crush," Hiroko had said with a soft laugh, but Yuri doesn't see that happening anytime soon.

Mila seems to be having more girl solidarity time with Mari and Yuko. They go for walks and drinks and long soaks after dumping the triplets on whatever unsuspecting sap sits still long enough. Right now it's Takeshi. A lot of the time it's Otabek. The triplets treat him like an existentialist jungle gym, climbing over him and asking bizarre questions about the nature of reality in a garbled Japanese/Russian hybrid that he can always follow, giving short, solemn answers that delight the triplets endlessly. Yuri doesn't look.

Yuri is aware of Otabek's reputation. The most charitable word most people use for him is "reserved." Crueler options include "stoic," "reserved," and "cold" and often contain conjecture about how big the stick up his ass is.

Yuri knows that all of these things can be true. Sometimes Otabek is quiet because he's uncomfortable around people he doesn't know well. But he does have a bit of a mean streak, and if he's angry, his cold silence can be more devastating than Yuri's harshest tirade.

But one thing Otabek has never been is secretive. If something matters to him, good or bad, he _says_ it. He says it _before_ he says it, at least to Yuri. Otabek's face is quite expressive, if you know how to read it. Most just people don't take the time to learn how to read it. Yuri has, almost by accident. He usually can't _not_ know what Otabek is thinking and feeling.

Right now, though, Otabek is a blank fucking wall. Yuri can't read his expression or posture. It scares him.

They drift through the day, connecting but not connecting, close to each other but barely speaking beyond superficial observations of their surroundings. The one time Yuri tries to press Otabek about what's going on with Katsuki, Otabek snaps, "Drop it, Yuri," with a venom that Yuri's never heard from him before. Yuri drops it, and holds his hurt feelings close to his heart.

They arrive for dinner a few minutes early, though Phichit and Katsuki are already there. Yuri's not sure what they do with their days, but he's pretty sure Katsuki's sticking close to the onsen and the Ice Palace. Exploring the town probably doesn't have the same appeal when you've lived here for most of your life.

Viktor stalks into the room with a look of determination that terrifies Yuri. That look from Viktor usual precedes terrible announcements like "You're skating 'Agape.'" He strides up to Otabek with that long-legged lope that allows him to glide like an angel on the ice but makes him look like a deranged giraffe on dry land. He slaps a piece of paper on the table in front of Otabek. "Your flight leaves at 9:00 tomorrow morning," he says. "Don't miss it."

Every other head in the room snaps up toward them. "Flight?" Phichit asks.

" _Leave_?" Yuri shrieks.

Katsudon looks like he's smothering a laugh. Viktor looks at Yuri with that stupid, dopey, indulgent smile he gets when he's acting like Yuri is his and Katsuki's kid. _Ugh, gross_. "Don't fret, little Yurio," Viktor coos, practically begging Yuri to punch him. "You're going, too."

" _WHAT_?"

"What? Why?" Otabek finally shakes himself. "Going _where_?"

"Montréal, of course!" Viktor says with a grand flourish of his hand. "JJ needs someone from the skating community to show that they care. And none of the rest of us care." He crosses his arms and leans his hip against the table. If Yuri had to guess, he's waiting for Otabek to throw himself at Viktor in gratitude. That it absolutely does not happen is no surprise to Yuri.

Yuri _is_ surprised when Otabek looks to Katsuki with anguished eyes. "Are you kicking me out?"

Katsuki's demeanor shifts in an instant. His eyes soften; his shoulders relax. He reaches across the table and puts his hand over Otabek's. "Of course not. You and Yurio are welcome to stay as long as you'd like." He glances at Viktor, who nods. "We thought, given the circumstances—"

"You _told_ him?" Otabek shoves his chair back; it squeals harshly against the hardwood floor.

"No, _no_ —" Katsuki rushes to reassure him.

"Not details," Viktor adds, probably making things worse. Not that Yuri knows. He feels so lost. "Just that something happened that made you uncomfortable. My Yuuri hates to see his guests uncomfortable."

"What the fuck happened?" Yuri demands.

"Nothing," Yuuri says, rushed and insistent.

" _Nothing_ ," Otabek says, stoic and withdrawing.

So much bullshit is filling this room right now that even Viktor's normal level of bullshit doesn't register on Yuri's bullshit meter. But, wouldn't you know it, he's growing up. He knows when pushing won't get him anywhere. It's okay; it's fine. He's learning how to bide his time. He stands up, shoving his chair with an only slightly less horrible squeak than Otabek had. "I'm going to go pack. I'm going to Montréal, I _guess_."

He doesn't claim to be _good_ at biding his time yet.

Yuri stomps out of the room before anyone can stop him. No one tries to stop him.

Otabek comes into the room half an hour later. Yuri's packed (for a value of "packed" that means "I threw shit into my bags and sat on them until they would close") and sitting in a chair. Otabek moves around the room like a mechanical wind-up doll, with all the stoic frozenness Yuri remembers from his early years in competition, and none of the grace or graciousness that he _knows_ Otabek is capable of.

"Tell me what's going on," Yuri says.

"Yuri, leave it," Otabek says frostily.

Yuri scoffs. "That's not going to happen, and you know it."

"Yuri, _please_."

Otabek... he's not _rude_. He unfailingly says "please" and "thank you" to the elder Katsukis, and to the Nishigoris when they're at the Ice Palace. He knows how to be polite to Viktor, a skill Yuri has no interest in picking up.

But Yuri made it clear to him early on that they didn't need to be careful with each other, or even _nice_ , if they didn't feel like it. Otabek lets his public mask slip more when he's around Yuri, and apparently the Otabek behind the public mask is kind of an asshole, which makes him perfectly suited to friendship with Yuri. Yuri can count on one hand the number of times Otabek's said "please" to him in the three years they've been friends.

So it catches Yuri, this "please." Not just because the word itself is so rare between them, but because he hears something so _brittle_ in it. Otabek's retreat to emotionlessness hides a certain shakiness. He's not angry; he's _scared_. Whatever happened that made Otabek unable to look Katsuki in the eye, it _scares_ him, and he's barely holding onto his composure.

Yuri purses his lips. He nods and mimes zipping his lips. Otabek rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh, but then he quietly says, "Thank you," which is _rarer_ between them, and turns his attention to packing.

Yuri doesn't know what to _do_ with this.

*

At nine o'clock the next morning, Otabek is on a plane to Montréal. With Yuri.

When Otabek had stood outside the onsen's front door this morning, trying to wrangle two people (one of whom was Yuri) and their luggage (most of which was Yuri's) out the door while saying proper goodbyes to everyone else, Viktor had presented a unique problem: to hug him tightly and thank him fiercely for the generous purchase of the ticket and the unexpected discretion about what had happened, or to grab him by the shoulders and _shake_ _him_ for the second ticket for Yuri. Nineteen hours on a plane. Two weeks at the edge of nowhere, Québec. (The LeRoys say they live in Montréal, because it's easier, but they actually live in a rural community two hours outside Montréal, where they have the space to have a rink and a small hobby farm. Otabek predicts that Yuri _will_ get into a stare-down with a goat. It's currently the only thing making this trip bearable.)

Yuri has the window seat. Yuri demanded the window seat the way he demands everything he wants: loudly, often, and with an absolute belief that it belongs to him. Otabek had grinned a lot.

Otabek's grinning a lot less, now. Even under the weak fluorescent lighting, Yuri's hair appears to glow gold. He's beautiful, an angry, fae beauty that Otabek could stare at and drink in forever, paired with a feline grace, temper, and fearless curiosity about the world. Otabek's never met anyone like Yuri, and that makes him so, so dangerous.

Yuri spends the first half of the flight complaining about flying and subtly probing for details about what happened at the onsen (though not as subtly as he thinks). Otabek lets it roll off, says little, and keeps his earbuds in.

Somewhere over the vast expanse of the Pacific, Yuri falls asleep, though he fights against it with multiple jerk of his head. Once he's out, his head drops heavily against Otabek's shoulder. Otabek's teeth grind. Can't this plane go any faster?

*

Isabella picks them up at the airport, thank god. Isabella is... easier.

Which is not to say that Isabella is _stupid_ , or simple. But she's not JJ, which offers a brief reprieve from the coming interrogation.

The mood in Nathalie and Alain's surprisingly old and battered gold station wagon is tense. In the back seat, Yuri is drawn up into himself, arms crossed, hood up, scowl turned to eleven. Isabella glances at him in the rearview and opens her mouth. Yuri's glare intensifies. Isabella huffs a small laugh and closes her mouth briefly before turning to Otabek instead.

"He's glad you're here," she says in English. "Remember that."

 _Even if he acts like a complete jackass,_ Otabek infers. "How is he?"

Yuri makes a vulgar noise. Otabek's not sure what it's about—maybe the idea that anyone would give a shit how JJ Leroy is doing.

Isabella smiles; it's exhausted, but it's genuine. "Hurt. Bored. Irritable."

«You're a saint», Otabek murmurs in French.

Isabella raises one magazine-ready eyebrow. «And you're not»?

Otabek stares out the windshield, jaw clenched. It's hardly common knowledge that this visit has less to do with altruism and more to do with Otabek trying to escape ignominy in Hasetsu. If JJ didn't tell Isabella, Otabek's certainly not going to.

Yuri kicks the back of Otabek's seat. "English, assholes."

Isabella winks at Yuri. "If you'd prefer," she says in Russian before switching to English to start pointing out notable features of the area. Yuri twists so he can kick her seat, too.

For Otabek, it's a little like coming home.

*

JJ is leaning on the fence at the end of the road to the Leroys' place (it's too long to be a driveway) when they pull up, his giant rocker boot, extending halfway up his leg, jarringly bright in the late afternoon sunlight. His smile is as wide as ever, but in person, Otabek sees what the dim lighting and pixelation of Skype had concealed: the skin next to his eyes is tight with strain, and he's sweating lightly.

Isabella slams on the breaks, throwing Yuri and Otabek forward. She shoves the gear shift into park, gets out of the car, and storms up to JJ, yelling in French too fast for Otabek to keep up. The gist seems to be that JJ should barely be out of _bed_ right now, let alone walking to the main road.

JJ looks at Otabek through the car window and grins. Otabek tries not to grin back and fails. Yuri kicks the seat again.

JJ hobbles over and pulls Yuri's door open, leaning on it heavily. "Yurio!" he says in English, "welcome. It is an honor to have the great Yuri Plisetsky in my home—although of course not as great an honor as it is for you to be here."

Yuri gets out of the car. The world, it seems to Otabek, holds its breath. There is a _very_ slight chance that Yuri won't be an asshole here.

" _Listen,_ buttfuzz," Yuri says, and there goes that chance, "let's be clear on one thing. I am a guest in your home, so I will be polite, because my dedushka taught me to be a polite guest."

Isabella snorts. Otabek pokes her in the ribs.

"But I do not _like_ you," Yuri continues. "You have no point as a human being, and not much more as a skater. I'm here because Otabek asked, _not_ because of you. My being here doesn't make us _friends_."

JJ stares at Yuri, and for a second his cheerful mask slips, showing the roiling mass of insecurity and self-doubt that lurks beneath the cocky façade JJ shows the world. Then he smirks, yells " _Shotgun!"_ and slides past Yuri into the seat he'd just abandoned.

Despite speaking fluent English, Viktor has decided (possibly deliberately) to misinterpret "calling shotgun" to mean that he gets dibs on whichever seat he wants. They've all had the experience of hearing him call shotgun and run off ahead, only to find him in the driver's seat, or the back seat, or, on one memorable occasion, the bed of a pickup. They hate that he does it, but that hasn't stopped the habit from spreading. JJ manages to be _more_ obnoxious than Viktor when he does it. A fact that Yuri will certainly not fail to notice.

Yuri stares into the car at JJ, fists clenched. A stream of Russian invective pours out of his mouth. Isabella raises her eyebrows—her Russian is passable, but not good enough to keep up with Yuri Plisetsky on an angry tear—but no way is Otabek going to translate for her right now, in front of Yuri.

When JJ responds to Yuri's swearing by smiling faux-apologetically and gesturing at his boot, Yuri makes a sound like a tea kettle starting to boil and stomps to the other side of the car.

Otabek looks at JJ in the rearview. "Please don't wind him up."

JJ spreads his hands. "I can only be myself, Beka."

Otabek's eyes close briefly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Otabek doesn't, in all honesty, understand what Yuri's doing here. When Viktor slapped the plane ticket receipt on the table in the onsen and declared that Otabek was going to Canada, he'd seemed to take it as read that Yuri would go along. But _why_? Yes, of course, Yuri is Otabek's best friend. But "best friend" means many different things, depending on the people involved. Are Yuri and Otabek "follow you halfway around the world to help take care of someone I _hate_ " best friends? Viktor seems to think so, but looking at Yuri, silently fuming in the back seat of the Leroys' station wagon, Otabek wonders, for the hundredth time since they left Hasetsu, if testing that theory is worth the pain of Yuri and JJ in the same space together for two weeks.

Well. They're here, and it would take far worse than JJ being his usual asshole self to make Yuri leave. They're stuck here together.

Allah help them all.

*

Yuri stabs his spatula into the mass of eggs in the pan in front of him and imagines it's Isabella's face. Or maybe Otabek's. He's not sure.

"Yurio!"

No, JJ's. Definitely JJ's.

"Go away," Yuri snaps in English, because it is _way_ too early in the morning to listen to JJ butcher Russian.

Behind him, Yuri hears the scrape of a chair against tile, and then the shifting grunts of JJ getting himself and his ridiculous boot onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

Today is Yuri's third day in Montréal. He hates everything and wants the world to die. Starting with Isabella Yang and Otabek Altin.

" _Yurio,_ " JJ chides, and Yuri can't decide what he hates most: the nickname, the fact that JJ thinks he has _any_ right to use it, or the fact that JJ is _still here_ , "be kind to the eggs. What did they do to you?"

Yuri stares at the JJ's-face eggs. A hundred biting retorts dance on his tongue. "Doesn't it _bother_ you?" he demands. That wasn't _any_ of them.

Yuri's staring at the eggs, so he doesn't see what JJ's face does. But he sounds weirdly pleased when he says, "Yurio! And you said you didn't care about me!"

Yuri slams the spatula onto the counter. "I _don't_. I'm not talking about you."

JJ stares at him for a long moment. Yuri squirms. Why couldn't he have kept his damn mouth shut? Then JJ says, "Ah." Just that. Just "ah." But no single syllable has ever made Yuri feel more stripped bare. What the hell is this? Since when has _JJ Leroy_ been able to flay Yuri open and pluck out his darkest secret with a single syllable?

"Never mind," Yuri grumbles, feeling two inches tall. "Go back to being a clueless, self-absorbed ass."

JJ laughs. JJ has a shrill, awful laugh. Basically, he laughs like a teenage girl and he should never do it. "Yurio, I'm never _clueless._ My parents taught me that information was as important as skill in competitions. I'm supposed to be using what I know about my opponents against them. I just don't _care_. Where's the glory in winning if I had to destroy everyone else to do it?"

Yuri thinks of the subtle digs and put-downs JJ's dished out to other competitors over the years. Which means that either JJ is being the world's most earnest liar at this moment, or he thinks he's being _helpful_ when he tells other skaters that they're not as good as he is. Weird.

Also not what Yuri's interested in discussing right now.

"She's your fiancée!" Yuri yells. "And she's spending all her time with another guy!"

Something... weird happens to JJ's face. Yuri doesn't get it, but it makes him uncomfortable. Like JJ is putting together more pieces of the puzzle of Yuri. Yuri doesn't want that. _At all._ "Well," JJ says, and he sounds like he's... being careful? Thinking about his words before he says them? What the fuck? "Isabella is her own woman. We're engaged, but I don't _own_ her. She can spend time with any other... person she wants to." He grins and snags a slice of bell pepper off the cutting board. "Also, it's an open relationship."

Now Yuri feels even  _worse._ If Otabek and Isabella isn't a problem from the Isabella and JJ perspective, then Otabek and Isabella isn't a problem. Yuri and Otabek aren't—they haven't—Yuri doesn't have any _claim_ on Otabek. And he doesn't even mean that in a creepy, possessive way; he means it in a "hey, can we talk about this first?" way. He's never been in a serious relationship, so he doesn't _know_ if he'd be okay with an open or polyamorous one, but he'd like to be in a position with Otabek where he could find out.

There. He's said it. Or at least thought it. Sort of.

Also? He didn't drop everything, abandon his grandfather and his cat for two extra weeks, pester Yakov into letting him take the time away from his training, and fly halfway around the world, to watch Otabek in a relationship with someone else.

A clatter by Yuri's elbow wrenches him into the present. JJ's managed to hobble to the stove and put the eggs on two plates without Yuri noticing.

"Son of a Zamboni!" Yuri shrieks.

"You know," JJ says, "if it bothers you, talk to Otabek. You might be surprised by the outcome." Then he fucking _winks,_ shoots those fucking "JJ fingers" while holding a plate of eggs, and clatters away on his boot.

"Those weren't for sharing, you malformed slice of dung-bread!" Yuri yells after him.

They were. Of course they were. But JJ doesn't need to know that.

*

"Yuri thinks you and Isabella are fucking."

Otabek's hammer and foot meet abruptly. " _Fuck,_ " Otabek hisses, swooping down to pick up the hammer and give the toes an unobtrusive rub. "What the fuck are you talking about? No, wait. How did you get out here?" Otabek is at the far edge of the Leroys' property. JJ couldn't have walked here in his condition.

JJ rolls his eyes showily.  "Borrowed Papa's golf cart. Now. Yuri," he says slowly, waving his hand at ear level to approximate Yuri's height (Yuri's taller than Otabek now. It's weird but... not unenjoyable), "thinks you—" He points at Otabek. "—and Isabella—" He points at his left ring finger. "—are fucking."

Otabek holds a hand up to stop the obscene thrusting JJ's doing with his hips. Because it's disgusting. And because JJ's going to fall over if he keeps doing it. "I didn't mean 'what' like 'please repeat yourself.' I meant 'what' like... _what_?"

"All the time you and Isabella are spending together. He's drawn an interesting conclusion about what you're doing."

Otabek shoves a handful of nails at JJ. "Either go away or be useful."

Nathalie and Alain own eighty acres of land. They swear that once their kids have retired from skating, they're going to retire from coaching and devote their energy to the hobby farm. Having spent much of childhood around a farm and knowing the amount of work that goes into it, Otabek predicts that'll last a year, _tops_. But in the meantime, fences and outbuildings have to be maintained, and Otabek doesn't like being idle. When JJ's otherwise occupied and Isabella's not around, Otabek is out here on the land, taking care of the little chores the Leroys have let lapse because they have _no fucking clue_ how farming works.

They work in silence for a minute—well, _Otabek_ works in silence while JJ watches like a great lump. Otabek pretends to believe that the conversation is over, that JJ is going to correctly interpret the weak conversational dodge as a refusal to discuss this.

And then: "You haven't told him, have you?"

Through gritted teeth, Otabek says, "Of course not. It's none of his business."

JJ makes an indelicate snort. Otabek should feel honored, probably; few people get to hear that snort, at odds as it is with the carefully curated image JJ presents to the world. But rage is growing rapidly, shoving out any positive feeling toward JJ.

"The pair of you," JJ says, and Otabek just _knows_ JJ is rolling his eyes. "If you would _talk_ to each other—"

"You mean the way you talk to Isabella?" Otabek grits out. It's a low, _low_ blow, but it slips right out in the flow of fury.

JJ freezes. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says stiffly.

Otabek grabs a nail from JJ's hand with needless force and jams it into the fencepost, slamming the hammer against it. _Wham_. "Really." _Wham._

"Really. Why don't you tell me?"

A jagged and dangerous note in JJ's voice sets off all sorts of mental alarm bells. _Wham._ Otabek ignores them. "'Otabek, I'm scared.'" _Wham._ "'Otabek, what if I can't get back to where I was before my injury?'" _Wham_. "'Otabek, what if this is the end of my professional career?'" _Wham_ . "'Otabek, I don't know who I am without skating.'" _Wham_. "'Otabek, what if Isabella doesn't want me if I'm not a champion?'"

 _Wham-CRACK_.

Otabek watches with a detached horror as the fence post cracks under the pressure of too many hammer blows. A long, thin, jagged line races down it like lightning.

"Otabek—"

"I'll fix it."

" _Otabek_ —"

"I _said_ I'll _fix it._ "

"If you're going to stand there and—"

"You're _engaged_ to her, JJ, for fuck's sake!" Otabek whirls to face JJ. The hammer falls, and Otabek clenches now-empty fingers into a fist. "Yuri and I, despite your insinuations, aren't dating. Isabella is your _actual_ _fiancée_. If you can't be honest with her at the foundation of your marriage, then maybe you don't deserve to be married to her!"

They stand there staring at each other, breathing hard. A thin trail of red trickles down the side of JJ's hand, where he's gripping the nails. They'll need to get that seen to right away. JJ doesn't need tetanus on top of everything else.

"And what if I'm right?" JJ asks. His voice is the most vulnerable Otabek's ever heard it. "What if I'm not the best anymore and it makes Isabella not want me?"

Leaving aside the bit about being "the best," Otabek knows to the core that this will never happen. In no universe does Isabella Yang turn her back on JJ Leroy just because he's not near the top of the skating heap. But despite the shouting, Otabek knows their roles here. Smiling and clapping a hand on JJ's shoulder, Otabek says, "Then maybe _she_ doesn't deserve to be married to _you_."

"All right, all right," JJ grumbles good-naturedly, vulnerability vanishing. "I'll talk to her."

Otabek knows he will. It will be an awkward and uncomfortable conversation, in which JJ will spend ten minutes talking _around_ the subject before Isabella loses her patience and forces it out of him. But they will talk. And it will be good for them. Which doesn't necessarily mean—

"And you'll talk to Yuri."

Otabek grunts and walks on to the next fence post, walking faster than JJ can keep up. The broken post can wait until tomorrow. "It's not the same, JJ."

It's absolutely not. JJ and Isabella have had their rough times, but they're _solid._ And what JJ's going through—it's serious, but it's _familiar._ Doubting yourself, worrying about your ability to compete— _every_ athlete has that worry, even a cocksure braggart like JJ. Isabella works in a competitive industry; she'll _get it_.

What Otabek is hiding from Yuri—hiding from almost _everyone_ —that's... well. It might be less alien than it would have been five years ago. But figure skating— _men's_ figure skating in particular, despite its popular stereotypes, is rigid about certain things. Maybe _because of_ the stereotypes: male figure skaters are expected to adhere to strict parameters of masculinity, to counter the public perception that they're all gay. Otabek's fairly sure Yuri doesn't buy into that expectation; he lives to reject whatever anyone tells him to do. But being _against_ something is different than being _for_ something else. If Yuri's not for Otabek on this, their friendship might not survive it.

And it's not just about Yuri. Yuri is the test balloon. He's Otabek's best friend, besides JJ (maybe better than JJ, by virtue of being easier to get along with than JJ, which says a lot about Otabek's taste in friends). If he doesn't support Otabek in this, who will? Maybe it's better to keep the secret and stay isolated by personal choice, than to tell other people and be isolated by theirs.

"No, it's not," JJ agrees, following gamely along. "But the same rule applies, don't you think? If you can't be honest with each other, maybe you shouldn't be together."

"Maybe we shouldn't," Otabek shoots back, keeping focus on the post this time, so nothing else cracks. And to avoid looking at JJ.

"No, you should," JJ says, leaning against the fence at Otabek's side. "You're the two prickliest cactuses I've ever met, and you should _definitely_ be together."

It's such a _JJ_ thing to say: a backhanded compliment delivered with soul-deep sincerity. Otabek laughs grudgingly. "We'll see." JJ opens his mouth, and Otabek holds up a hand. "We'll _see_. It's all the promise I can make today."

JJ nods and says, "We'll see, indeed."

Otabek doesn't like the sound of that. But diving into it would take too much emotional energy. _That_ can wait until tomorrow, too.

*

Yuri is _done._ He’s not putting up with this bullshit for another minute.

Look. Yuri is well aware that he can be difficult. He’s built his identity as a skater around being difficult. But he’s never considered himself so abhorrent that his best friend would actively seek out ways to avoid him. Why the hell is Yuri here if Otabek’s going to spend all of his time with Isabella?

One of the main points of them coming to Montréal, he’d thought, was for Otabek to give Isabella a break from constant JJ-sitting. And maybe Yuri’s point in coming along was to give Otabek someone to, for lack of a better word, come home to at the end of a long day of JJ-sitting. But with Otabek and Isabella holed up together so much of the time, for the week they’ve been here, _Yuri_ has ended up doing more caring for JJ than Otabek has. He’s been listening to the sound of his last nerve fraying for the past day and a half.

But this. This is the last straw. Otabek promised him they could go out tonight. No Isabella, no Leroys, just Yuri and Otabek, hitting the streets of Montréal. Yuri’s promised not to show off his “crazy Russian alcohol tolerance”; Otabek’s promised to introduce Yuri to his glamorous international DJ friends. Only the anticipation of this night out has gotten him through the day.

But it’s ten minutes past when they were supposed to leave, and there’s no sign of Otabek. Otabek is _never_ late. He manages time as strictly as every other aspect of his life. If he hasn’t shown up, he’s either ghosting Yuri or too wrapped up in Isabella to remember that they had plans. Neither option particularly appeals.

"WHERE ARE THEY?" Yuri bellows at JJ. He's dimly aware that he's being a jerk, and he doesn't care.

"Yurio," JJ cajoles.

"Jesus fuck, you fuck, stop calling me that and _tell me where they are_."

For the first time in the entire time they've known each other, JJ looks uncertain. "I'm not sure Otabek wants—"

" _Fuck_ what Otabek wants." Yuri barely recognizes his voice. He sounds half-feral.

JJ stands in the doorway to his and Isabella's room, mouth slightly open like he was going to say something else, looking like a useless lump. Yuri growls. "I'll find him myself."

It takes him a minute, because this house is _too damned big._ (It's not even the main house. Nathalie, Alain, and the younger kids live in the main house; Yuri's hardly seen them all week. JJ and Isabella live on the grounds in what used to be the farm manager's house or some bullshit. It's still way too big, and the main house is _even bigger_.)

JJ follows behind him, moving at almost normal walking speed, even with the boot. "Yuri!" he calls. "Yuri, you don't want to do that."

"Fuck off, JJ!" He _knows_ he doesn't want to. But he has to.

He finds a closed door to a room he hasn't been in before but thinks he's seen. He thinks it's Isabella's design room. This is where they're most likely to be.

"Yuri," JJ says quietly as Yuri's hand is closing around the doorknob, "if Otabek hasn't shared this with you, you should respect that choice."

And that... damn it, JJ's said the _one thing_ in the fucking world that could make Yuri hesitate. Because if a skater at their level understands one thing better than skating, it's lack of privacy. Constantly battling to have even one part of your life that belongs to _you_. To have the world find out you broke up with your girlfriend because you announced it, not because everyone's filming her sitting through your performance with her new boyfriend. To talk about the effects of anxiety and depression in a carefully worded statement in support of a mental health nonprofit, not because everyone saw you break down on the ice. To come out on your terms, not because your asshole neighbor sold a pap pictures of you and your first kind-of-boyfriend making out in your grandfather's backyard.

And so, instead of barging in like he'd like to _,_ Yuri knocks. "Otabek? Are you in there?"

Potya makes a sound—well, a _lack_ of sound—when she's doing something she shouldn't and Yuri calls out to her. Yuri hears that sound now: he hadn't noticed that he'd been hearing noises behind the door until those noises suddenly and suspiciously stop.

After some rushed whispering—in French again, _ugh_ —Isabella calls, "Come in, Yuri."

Yuri opens the door cautiously. He has no idea what he expects to find behind it. Is he about to catch them having sex? That seems unlikely. But some level of undress, maybe?

There _is_ undress, but it doesn't look like he'd expected. Isabella is sitting at a vanity in a tank top and short shorts. They look comfortable, like pajamas. Otabek is sitting on a low couch next to the vanity. He's wearing dark gray boxer briefs—and nothing else. Yuri swallows.

Something's... _off_ about Otabek. His posture is _awful,_ slumped and dejected. And the look on his face is abject misery. He's holding something in his hands, a shirt, maybe, _clenching_ it like he holds it responsible for everything wrong in his life. Emotionally, Otabek's never looked so defeated.

Physically... look, Yuri's seen Otabek at five in the morning, just arrived off an ungodly middle-of-the-night flight from Almaty. Yuri's seen him after three hours on the ice, pouring sweat, his jaw clenched so hard Yuri swears he hears it creak, scowling thunderously at the entire world, starting with himself. And Yuri's seen him conked out asleep in Mila's living room, trying to pretend he's not a _colossal_ lightweight who can barely stay awake past ten. Yuri _always_ thinks he's attractive, even at those times.

But today, Otabek is a different _kind_ of attractive. He's... softer? Lighter, maybe, like he's not carrying the weight of Kazakhstan's expectations on his shoulders. If Yuri had to pick a word to describe Otabek's appearance right now, he would choose _beautiful_.

Except for how he looks like he'd rather throw himself off a cliff than be in this room with Yuri.

Isabella unfolds herself from the chair and smooths her hands down her tank top as though it's the finest fashion on a New York runway. She smiles gently and ruffles her fingers through Otabek's hair. Otabek scowls, but it's the same scowl JJ's little sister gives when you mess up her hair, not the scowl Otabek gives when someone touches him unwelcomely. Yuri is officially the most confused.

"We'll leave you two to sort this out," Isabella says. "Otabek, can you clean up when you're done?"

Otabek nods. "I know where everything goes."

They share a quick, conspiratorial grin, and then Isabella walks to the door. She takes JJ's hand ( _grooooooss_ ) and looks at Yuri with a solemnity he's not used to seeing on her face. "Be gentle, okay?"

"I— _what_?" This is Otabek's show. _Otabek_ is the one sneaking off with Isabella at all hours, ghosting on Yuri, apparently hiding a secret from him. Why would _Yuri_ have to be gentle? But Isabella's moved on, gently tugging JJ out of the room.

They're almost gone when Otabek calls, "JJ!" JJ pauses, and Otabek glances at him briefly before going back to glaring at his hands. "Remember what we talked about."

JJ scoffs. "It doesn't count if you're _forced_ into it."

Otabek laughs humorlessly. "Then neither of us will. That suits me better."

JJ rolls his eyes—but he looks terrified as he says, "Oh, no. You don't get out of it that easily. I can— _ouais._ I'll do it. Fucker." Otabek laughs more genuinely as JJ leads Isabella away, saying, "I kind of promised Otabek I'd talk to you about something. Is now a good time?"

Yuri doesn't hear Isabella's answer as the door shuts between them. He doesn't care.

A voice in Yuri's head urges caution. Whatever's going on with Otabek, he's uncomfortable about it, judging by the way he's clutching the shirt against his chest like a scandalized wood nymph. Yuri knows he should be sensitive. Tactful.

These things are not Yuri Plisetsky's strong suits.

" _What the fuck is wrong with you_?" he whisper-shouts. He doesn't _really_ shout because he doesn't believe for one minute that JJ and Isabella are gone. He assumes they're lurking outside the door, JJ to see someone (Yuri?) get humiliated, Isabella because she and Otabek have _bonded_ or some bullshit, and she would swoop in at the slightest hint of trouble to whisk him away.

Otabek doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look at Yuri, but he doesn’t pull back or seem cowed by Yuri’s sharp tone. It takes Yuri a second to understand what he’s seeing, but then he gets it: this is Otabek’s mask, the face he shows to strangers. Yuri didn’t recognize it because Otabek hasn’t used it on him since the moment they held hands in Park Güell.

(It wasn’t a handshake, okay? Yuri’s a professional athlete, and he was raised by an old man with old manners and old friends. He knows what a handshake feels like. That moment in Barcelona? That was a _caress_.)

Yuri looks at Otabek, hunched on the couch. He thinks about Isabella's uncharacteristic protectiveness (earlier in the week, JJ tripped over an ottoman while doing something his doctor had _explicitly_ told him not to. Isabella had left him lying there for ten minutes while he figured out how to get up. "Overprotectiveness" is not in her usual playbook, but she sure has a lot of it for Otabek), the way he'd tried to weasel out of whatever deal he and JJ had about telling Yuri and Isabella... _something_. Yuri looks at these facts and draws one bizarre but inevitable conclusion:

Otabek is _scared_. Of _Yuri._

Yuri's perception of the situation turns on its head, and his poor brain struggles to keep up. He has trouble imagining Otabek being afraid of _anything,_ and especially of _Yuri._ Otabek's twenty, has a successful skating career and a more successful DJing career. He speaks at least four languages, rides motorcycles (including the one in his garage in Almaty, with the engine he rebuilt himself), and plays the upright bass. He looks sexy just by _breathing_ and can either pull people in or keep them away with his expression alone.

And who's Yuri? A seventeen-year-old with rage issues and stunted social development from having devoted so much of his life so young to skating. He's never dated seriously, doesn't know how to do anything except skate, cook a few basic dishes, and take care of his cat (who also has rage issues). What the fuck is there about Yuri for Otabek to be afraid of?

Yuri drops onto the couch next to Otabek. His confusion has mostly burned away his anger, and he feels hollow. He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He suspects the early parts of this conversation will go better if they don't have to look at each other. He swats a hand out blindly, hoping to... who knows. Brush Otabek's elbow consolingly or something. When Otabek grabs his hand and curls his fingers around Yuri's—well, it's a good thing Yuri's lying down, or he might've fallen over.

"Am I that scary?" Yuri asks in Russian. He's regretting not signing up for that online Kazakh class he'd found; this would probably be more comfortable for Otabek in his first language. His second will have to do. And... wow, look at Yuri being compassionate and thinking about Otabek's needs. Not scary at all.

Otabek snorts. "You have no idea."

"No, I don't!" Yuri struggles to sit up. "I have no idea, because I—I have no idea!"

They stare at each other, wide-eyed and breathing fast, for a long beat. And then it is, surprisingly, Otabek who cracks. He snorts again, a snort of barely contained laughter. Yuri glares, but his heart's not in it, and when Otabek starts laughing— _actually laughing,_ not his usual sardonic huff—Yuri joins in out of reflex as much as anything else. They laugh for a moment more, and Yuri feels some of the tension lift from his shoulders. He's a guy laughing with his best friend. That can't be _bad,_ can it?

Yuri presses his luck, pushes into the moment. "Hey," he says, elbowing Otabek—gently, jeez—in the side. "What's going on? It can't be _that_ bad, can it? I mean, Isabella hasn't run screaming, and she's super prissy and judgmental."

Otabek shoves back, but he's smiling. "She is _not_ ," he says. "I wish you would go easier on her. She's a good person. And she's not responsible for JJ being JJ."

"No, but she's marrying his stupid ass."

Otabek hums. Then he falls silent. Then: "What do you know about nonbinary genders?"

Yuri squints, trying to track the abrupt subject change. "You mean, like, not being a man or a woman?"

Otabek purses his lips, and this adorable pissed-off V appears between his eyebrows. "Sure, it's like that for some people. For others, it's... it's being a different gender than man or woman. And for some people, it's being... both."

"What, like, at the same time? Or at different times?"

Otabek shrugs. "It's different for different people."

Yuri's familiar with the concept, of course; he lives near the Baltic Sea, for fuck's sake, not the Sea of Tranquility. Russia may be full of terrifying homophobic dickwads, but Yuri has the internet. But as far as he knows, he doesn't know anyone who identifies like that, and he's never heard anyone discuss it this straightforwardly. Like they've studied it and know a lot about it, and not for academic reasons or idle curiosity. Otabek talks about it like—oh.

 _Helling fucking shit in a sandwich_.

"Otabek." Yuri's voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again. "Otabek, are you—is that... _you_?"

Otabek squeezes his eyes shut. Without a thought, Yuri puts his hand over Otabek's and realizes that Otabek is holding his hands in fists in his lap. So nearly imperceptibly that Yuri wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been staring right at him, Otabek nods.

It's official. Yuri is _the fucking worst_. After a week of griping and glaring and refusing to own his fucking jealousy, he finally understands what's _actually_ going on, and it's so far from what he'd imagined that he wants to curl up and die from the shame of how badly he's treated Otabek and Isabella.

But that's for later. For right now, Otabek needs him.

"Okay," Yuri says, trying to work things out in his head. “So… so that’s what it’s been about? All the time you’ve been spending with Isabella, it’s been _this_?” It makes a strange sense. Isabella's a fashion designer and a model; if Otabek knows anyone who's equipped to help him figure out how to... be a woman? sometimes? it's her.

Otabek nods hesitantly and nudges Yuri's hand aside, lifting up what he's (she's? they've? Oh, fuck, _grammar_ ) been holding and letting it tumble out from the ball it's been clenched in. "I'm, uh. They're equal, inside, but sometimes I feel more of a need to, I don't know. _Express_ one more than the other? Today is..." It's a dress. A short, forest green dress in flowy-looking material. Yuri's hand drifts out and strokes along the front; it's soft, like a well-worn t-shirt. It would come to Otabek's knees. Yuri swallows.

"It looks nice."

 _For real, Plisetsky_? Yuri chides himself. _"It looks nice"? This is why you can't have nice things._

A faint smile plays at the corners of Otabek's lips. "I thought so."

"Shut up, assface." Yuri shoves his hands through his hair. "Okay. Okay, first thing: is there some other dumb name I should be calling you besides your normal dumb name?"

Otabek makes that pissed-off face that Yuri's been half in love with since Barcelona. " _No_. Whoever and whatever else I am, I'm still Otabek."

"How long have you... known?"

Otabek shrugs. "From the moment I realized that boys and girls were supposed to be different things? I learned quickly that not many people experience both at once. I learned more quickly not to talk about it."

Yuri sucks in a fast breath over his teeth. From the stories he's heard, the Altins are wonderful people who love and support Otabek no matter what. But the rest of the world is out there, and Otabek competes in one of the most gender-codified sports around. Yuri can't imagine what Otabek's life has been like all these years.

A lot of things about Otabek's skating style suddenly make sense. The one thing they (yes, okay, fuck it, _they_ for now, until he gets a chance to ask. That seems like the only pronoun... _big_ enough to encompass what Otabek's describing) get most consistently criticized for is stiffness and restraint. Everyone who's anyone in the skating world has predicted that Otabek could easily join the ranks of history's greatest skaters if the beautiful programs and powerful jumps weren't consistently paired with an obvious sense of holding back.

But if Otabek's instinct is to incorporate more... feminine elements, _surely_ a coach or judge or commentator or twenty came down hard on them for that. Yuri would hold back, too, if he'd gotten that reaction.

Yuri realizes how long he's been quiet—and how Otabek's misinterpreted that—when Otabek says quietly, "I wasn't trying to hide it from you."

And, whoa, okay? No. This one, Yuri knows for sure. "Hey, no," he says. "You don't—you don't _owe_ me anything, Beka, okay?"

"Yeah," Otabek says, exhaling slowly. "Okay."

Yuri sits quietly for a minute, but then he just can't keep it in. "But... _JJ_? Why did that fucker know?" The petulant _and not me_ is unspoken but heavily implied.

"I guess..." Otabek looks at their hands. "I knew his reaction would be... reassuringly self-absorbed. He wanted to know how it would impact me as a competitor, and... and that's it. He didn't judge me; he didn't have any opinion about _me_ , except as it related to him." Otabek snorts something like a laugh. "It was weirdly comforting. And Isabella's been a rock. I don't know if I could've... well. Without her help, I'd've gone screaming back into the closet the day after I came out."

Yuri sniffs. Otabek's one of the strongest people he knows, but they always think they need to be stronger. To be better. Yuri's sure they could've gotten through this without Isabella, but he's glad they didn't have to, and he's not sure how to feel about that. He's also not convinced that "JJ" and "comforting" ever belong in the same thought, but he won't argue. He _will_ ask about something else Otabek said, though. " _Will_ it impact you as a competitor? I mean... can you compete in the men's division if you're a woman too?"

For a second, Otabek seems to preen under that description, and then they nod. "The ISO separates genders according to hormone levels, ridiculous as that is. Right now, I’m not planning to go on HRT, so that won't change."

"But something else will?" Yuri asks, eyebrows lifting.

Otabek rubs their neck. Yuri doesn't know why he finds it so adorable. "Yeah. Maybe?" Their hand drops. "I'm sick of being half of myself. I'm switching coaches. I want someone who'll let me move away from being 'Otabek Altin, Hero of Kazakhstan' all the time and just be _Otabek,_ whatever that ends up meaning." They grin slyly, and Yuri's heart flutters. "Be prepared for things to look different for me this season."

Oh, no. Yuri's got a big enough crush on Otabek Altin, Hero of Kazakhstan. He's not sure he can handle "different" Otabek. "I'll believe it when I see it, asshole," he says, painfully aware that his tone lacks bite. "I'll still kick your ass."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Otabek says with a faint smile that doesn't look genuine.

And suddenly it's _so important_ that Otabek hear this. Yuri shifts on the couch and takes Otabek's hands. "Beka," he says in a low, urgent tone, "Beka, listen." He waits until Otabek's looking at him. " _Nothing_ about this changes anything." He waves his hand. "Or, yes, it _does,_ because I've learned something about who you are, and I'm going to _try_ not to be an asshole about it—" Otabek snorts, which Yuri ignores. "But this has been most of your life, right? Like, longer than you've known me. So it doesn't change _you_. Just what I know about you."

"No one else is going to see it that way," Otabek says.

" _Fuck_ everyone else," Yuri says. Otabek snorts louder, and Yuri ignores them harder. "This doesn't change who you are." Yuri takes a deep breath. If Otabek can be brave, then by fuck, so can he. "It doesn't change how I... _ugh._ How I feel about you."

Otabek stills, glancing quickly at him and then away. A tic in their jaw tells Yuri that they're clenching their teeth. "And how is that?" they ask, managing to sound belligerent and hopeful at the same time.

Yuri slides his hand across Otabek's thigh _(oh god muscles)_ and picks up one of their hands where it's clenched in their lap. Yuri yanks none-too-gently at Otabek's fingers until he can slide his own between. Otabek stares down at their linked fingers and refuses to look at Yuri's face. Yuri looks at their fingers, too. His bravery only stretches so far. "I feel," he says, cursing his voice for shaking, "like I want to kiss you." In a burst of bravado, he lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses one of Otabek's fingertips. Otabek inhales sharply but gives no further response. "All the time," Yuri adds, kissing the next finger. "In any gender." A third kiss. It's cheesy as _fuck,_  a page out of the Viktor Nikiforov Over-the-Top Wooing Handbook, but sue him. He's never had a serious relationship before; he's traveling without a map here.

Beside him, Otabek is coiled like a spring, clearly ready to leap at any second.

"And this isn't—I'm not, like, fetishizing you because I know now that you're a girl, too, or whatever. Seriously. That would be fucked up."

"Woman," Otabek says quietly.

"Yes, all right, woman, what the fuck ever—it's _you_ , Beka. I, Yuri Plisetsky, am a giant fucking lovestruck idiot over you, Otabek Altin, and I have been since Barcelona, so can I _please_ kiss you now?"

Otabek lunges before the sentence is fully finished. Their hands are huge and hot and so, so gentle cradling Yuri's head. Otabek's mouth is insistent but never aggressive as they move against each other, shifting and adjusting in search of the perfect angle. When they find it, they both groan. Yuri puts a hand on the gloriously bare skin of Otabek's back; when Otabek shivers and presses closer, Yuri thinks he could literally conquer the whole fucking world.

Time ceases to exist. There's just this couch and Otabek's mouth. They move and shift together, until eventually Yuri's on his back with Otabek hovering over him, sucking wet kisses across his jaw and down his neck. Yuri gasps and throws his head back to give Otabek better access. He grips Otabek's biceps and tries to remember how to breathe.

He feels like he's run a marathon when they reluctantly part. Otabek slides off Yuri and settles next to him in a narrow sliver of couch, breathing hard. They're only wearing boxer briefs, and Yuri is gratified to see feel obviously affected Otabek is by this. It wouldn't take much; fuck knows _he_ feels like a stiff breeze could make him come. But he'll be double-damned if he lets his and Otabek's first time together be in JJ fucking Leroy's house, in Isabella goddamned Yang's dressing room. Yuri grabs Otabek's hand and grips as hard as he can. Otabek squeezes back just as hard.

"Have you really been wanting that since Barcelona?" Otabek asks.

"Yeah," Yuri says. "And it was worth every goddamn second of the wait." He turns his head. "You?"

"Last summer. When you came to Almaty. I _hate_ other people in my space. I was so worried about whether we'd be friends at the end of it. But it was... perfect. Having you there felt... _perfect_. After you left, I made myself have a long think about why that was."

" _What_?" Yuri shrieks. "We could've been doing this since _last summer_?"

" _No_ ," Otabek says emphatically. "I wasn't ready. I felt like i couldn't be with you—with anyone—until I could tell them about my gender. And there was _no way_ I could've done that last summer."

Yuri rolls so he can kiss Otabek again. "I'm proud of you, okay, asshole?" he mutters when ends the kiss.

Otabek grins. "Such a romantic."

Yuri sticks his tongue out. Then, "Beka? What happened at the onsen?"

"Yuri—"

But as soon as the question's asked, Yuri realizes he doesn't need Otabek to say. A rigidly gender-separated space; Otabek standing in their room in the middle of the night, damp and barely able to speak; Yuuri and Otabek not able to look at each other. Yuri's got a good guess. "Never mind," he says. "None of my business." Otabek looks at him with raised eyebrows, and Yuri pokes them with their joined hands until they huff a half-laugh and squirm away.

The two of them have been lying quietly, basking in the moment and (in Yuri's case) trying not to overthink what comes next, for ten minutes when a godawful banging starts up on the door.

"Beka?" JJ calls, warbling like a damned songbird. " _Yuuur_ io! Are you in there?"

"Are you naked?" Isabella adds.

Yuri sits up and shoots his hair tie at the door (he has no idea when it came out, but he definitely remembers Otabek's fingers running through his hair and feeling like, given enough time, he could come just from that); the sound it makes when it hits isn't satisfying.

Otabek laughs. "Give us a minute!" They pick up the nearest piece of clothes to hand, which happens to be the dress. They pull it on, and... _Jesus wept_. Yuri was right; it skims Otabek's knees. The soft knit pulls delectably across Otabek's broad shoulders and chest. Yuri can easily make out nipples through the fabric. He wants to lick them.

Yuri forces his eyes up to Otabek's face. They're smirking, the jerk, even as a gorgeous light blush dusts their cheeks. " _Later,"_ they whisper, and Yuri's body lights up for an instant before Otabek calls "Come in!" and JJ and Isabella tumble into the room.

JJ looks drained. He's leaning on Isabella like he can't hold himself up. Whatever conversation these two were having, it must've been a doozy.

Yuri expects a big, dramatic confrontation between all parties. Hell, if Isabella and JJ had knocked much earlier, Yuri would've started a big, dramatic confrontation himself. But he's feeling lazy and besotted, and he can't be bothered to do more than flip JJ off for existing. JJ laughs it off, which Yuri finds annoying but is too blissed out, sitting here, leaning against Otabek on the couch, to do anything about it.

"How's everything in here?" Isabella asks, looking shrewdly between them. Yuri considers how much she _knows_ , how deeply Otabek took her into their confidence. It's strangely humbling and makes him look at her her in a new light. Which he hates. Growing up is _dumb_.

Otabek smiles, genuine and sweet. They take Yuri's hand. "Everything's good." Which, you know, from a stoic like Otabek Altin, is practically a love sonnet. Isabella and JJ clearly know that, from the way they smile back. "How about you?" Otabek asks.

Uncharacteristically diffident, JJ ducks his head and stares at the ground. Isabella says, "It's not perfect. But it's better." JJ nods but doesn't look up or speak.

Yuri grudgingly takes back every wish he's ever had that the dickhead would spontaneously lose his ability to talk. Talking JJ might be awful, but silent JJ turns out to be worse. "Hey, asshole!" Yuri says. JJ and Isabella both look. "Thanks, I guess."

JJ gushes, "You are _so_ welcome, Yurio! Oh, I'm so happy for the two of you! I've done a _truly_ wonderful thing today, haven't I? And I did it... _JJ style_!"

And, oh, look. Yuri's wishing JJ silent again. "Die in an avalanche, shithead," he mutters. Otabek laughs and kisses Yuri's cheek.

The balance of the universe has been restored.

*

Otabek Altin is twenty-one and staring at a screen in Los Angeles. They're waiting for their results to be posted, watching highlights of their just-finished short program, and trying to ignore the reporters yammering to their right.

"American reporters," Yuri grumbles in Kazakh. Otabek has no idea how Yuri's in the kiss-and-cry with them, beyond the fact that he continues to carefully cultivate his image as a tantrum-throwing bad boy and no one wants to argue with him. However it happened, Otabek's grateful.

Because... _American reporters._ They know better than to approach while a skater's in the kiss-and-cry waiting for results, but they hover close enough that Otabek can hear them.

"You know, Rob," one of them is saying, "I _can't_ get over the change in Altin this season. The artistry and grace—without sacrificing the power we've come to expect from him."

"Them," Yuri says in English, under his breath. Otabek tries not to grin.

"I agree, Maddie," Rob replies. "We've been saying for years that if Altin could shake that stiff formality, he'd be unstoppable. And now look at him. I've only seen _one_ list of predictions that doesn't put him on that podium today."

" _Them,"_ Yuri says. Otabek goes ahead and grins.

"Oh, absolutely." Maddie's voice turns breathy as she continues, "And this _costume_! We're used to Altin's outfits patterned after Kazakh folk costumes, which have been very important for him, but they didn't have the punch a skater at his level needs to really be eye-catching. With this one, and the one from Altin's current short program, we see  _echoes_ of the folk costumes, but with much more flowing lines. And look at those colors, Rob. Those subtle shifts between red and blue? It's quite something to look at, and I'm curious as to what inspired the change."

"It's a flag," Yuri mutters. Otabek sees his fingers twitch toward his phone.

"Altin's spoken repeatedly about the beauty of sunrise over the mountains in Almaty," Rob muses. "All those early morning motorcycle rides he's so well-known for. Maybe the colors are in tribute to that?"

"It's a _flag_ , fuckheads!" Yuri grabs his phone from his jacket pocket, and Otabek grabs his hand.

"Yurotchka, I love you," they say, feeling the usual thrill at saying that out loud, to Yuri's face, "but if you out me by tweeting a picture of the ambigender flag next to a picture of me in costume, I will kill you with my bare hands. And then when I die at the end of a long, fabulous life, I will find you in whatever hell you're stuck in and haunt you for all eternity."

"Dead people can't haunt other dead people," Yuri snarks. He's still holding his phone. Otabek gives him a flat stare until he huffs and puts it away. "I wasn't going to," he says sulkily. Otabek keeps staring. "Okay, I was going to. But not to out you! I'm just sick of everyone being so _stupid_."

Otabek rubs Yuri's back consolingly. "I am, too. But I can't be out yet _because_ they're so stupid. Men's figure skating isn't ready for an openly nonbinary skater, and I'm more than happy not to be a trailblazer on this one."

Yuri slumps. They've had this discussion so many times they could each do both sides. It's barely an argument anymore, more Yuri venting his frustrations and Otabek gently reminding him why this isn't up to him. It happens less and less often lately, and Yuri's getting more gracious about it. He's showing real growth. _Not_ that Otabek would ever say that aloud.

Yuri slides his phone into Otabek's jacket pocket, where it'll be less of a temptation. Otabek grabs his hand and presses a kiss to the knuckles. Otabek isn't ready to be out as ambigender, but they're happy to let _everyone_ know how they feel about Yuri.

"Shh," Yuri says, though Otabek hasn't made a sound, "this is my favorite part."

Otabek glances at the screen and smiles. It's their favorite part, too. The Otabek on the giant screens raises their leg and grabs their skate in a perfect Biellmann spin. The real-life crowd gasps and applauds wildly, as they had during the performance. Otabek's far from the only skater in the men's division to do a Biellmann, but it's rare enough to get a big reaction.

Yuri's trying to look tough, but he can't fight the giant grin taking over his face. He nudges Otabek gently. "I'm so proud of you," he says.

Otabek smiles and squeezes Yuri's hand. "Yeah. I'm proud of me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Please remember that the nonbinary gender experience is different for every person who, erm, experiences it, even within the same gender label. An ambigender person might use multiple pronouns, depending on their situation; they might have a very different gender presentation than the one shown here; their relationship to their body and sexuality might be quite different than Otabek's. I've simplified a few things for narrative coherency, while still trying to accurately represent what Otabek might be going through. I drew from my own experience as a nonbinary person, but my life circumstances are _so_ different from Otabek's that it's an inexact comparison.
> 
> Please leave kudos or comments if you feel called to. Please be aware that this is not a space to debate the validity or acceptability of trans/nonbinary existence. If you're ambigender and Otabek's characterization rings false for you, please let me know so I can fix it. But all transphobic or transmedicalist comments _will_ be deleted.
> 
> Hey, here's [my tumblr](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com), for a few more days, anyway!


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